Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch
by ShadowMecha
Summary: Chapter Three up. Harry Potter in seventh year. Evidently, pensives don't like water.
1. The Unexpected Visitor

OK. Here I am. No help for it. I've sunk into my little hollow of a world. And I'm going to have to write FF. Serious FF. Possibly even... SERIOUS HP FF. And it will not be read. Oh well. Poor FF.

Now for you FF Harry Potter kick. Read. Review. Then read Draco Veritas cuz it's good, and Miss Lupin's stuff (she's on my Fav Author's page...) if you like really good slash or a nice long story about Mini James and co. She's got talent. But if you're reading this, then you're probably familiar with her. Because there's so much HP FF and this is only my first chapter of the stuff. That's how it be.

DISCLAIMER : Don't own HP. Don't own any characters. Get over it. Own this story. Read it.

**Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch**

**Chapter One : The Midnight Visitor**

He was sitting on one of the benches. He remembered these benches from before. They were good, sturdy, wood seats, but he didn't really pay attention to them. Dobby was sitting beside him.

"Master will be here soon," Dobby whispered. Only it was Kreacher. Harry jumped. But Kreacher wasn't paying attention. He was pointing over Harry's shoulder at two figures. They were standing on a raised dais. A tall woman with black hair was laughing. A tall man with Black hair was laughing too. Only it wasn't as is if either of them had said something funny.

Then there was a flash of yellow light (A/N : It was yellow, wasn't it?) and the man fell backwards. Back through a black curtain. And the woman was still laughing. And Dobby/Kreacher was laughing. And Harry screamed. The woman turned. But it wasn't who he'd thought it'd be. It was Cho Chang and she was laughing.

"This is my revenge, Harry!" she laughed. "This is because you liked smart little Hermione Granger so much more. I don't see why. She isn't even cute."

Harry stared. Cho turned back to the black curtain and laughed again. "Not much you can do about it now. I mean, you killed him. Both times, you killed him. If you hadn't been so stupid, he'd still be alive. If you ever listened to anyone and didn't have such a swollen head that it should be hard for you to fly..."

Now Cho was Snape and Harry felt really cold. Only Snape looked sad. "Pity, isn't it? It's always your fault. They always try to kill you and end up killing someone you love. Like now."

Snape pointed over Harry's shoulder. Harry felt his throat catch. It was Voldemort. He stood on the benches and smiled, pointing a wand down at Harry. He shouted something, _"Aveda Kedavra_!", but before the green light hit Harry, someone jumped in its path and fell down against the floor, eyes wide. It was Cedric Diggory. Then it was his mother. He knew it was her, without a doubt. Then it was... him? No. It was his father.

"Who is it going to be next Potter?" asked Snape from behind. "Weasly? Lupin? Granger? Longbottom?"

Harry thought he was going to scream, but before that Voldemort shouted the curse again, and Harry's lighteningbolt scar erupted in pain. It hurt enough to wake him up.

It was a relatively dark and stormy night in Little Whinging. Harry Potter was standing next to his window, and behind him, Hedwig was hooting softly.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry murmured. "Can't let you out. Really bad weather."

He was distracted. Very distracted. And he had no real hope of focusing on the rain. Outside his window, lightening crackled and lit up the houses behind it. But inside the window, another lightening bolt burned. Harry had slept through the storm until dreams woke him. Bad dreams. He was still sweating. And his scar hurt.

They were dreams of Sirius.

He hated those dreams. But they were like the voices Harry heard whenever he was around dementors, the voices of his parents. He wanted them gone-- but if he didn't have them, what else was there to remind him? He didn't have anyone now. Hermione hadn't written him. Ron had sent a short letter, but it didn't say much. Not that Harry was intrested in, anyway. He'd crumpled the note and chucked it. He didn't want to think about the Order now.

The room was pretty bare. Only the desk he'd managed to get from Dudley at the threat of not sending an owl to Mad-Eye Moody for a week, his bed, Hedwig's cage, and the old wardrobe Dobby had hidden in during second year. No pictures on the walls.

A dusty birthday card from two summers ago was sitting on his desk. _To Harry--_ it began. And the ending was written in the same loopy writing that Harry missed so much. _From Sirius. _Harry leaned back on the bed, staring at the card, and drifted into a gentle sleep. He very much hoped he would not have dreams.

Harry rubbed his forehead. The storm was still loud enough to keep him from hearing Dudley snore, he guessed. At least he didn't hear anything that sounded like a hippo in the other room. He sat up on the bed. Hedwig was silent now, and Harry felt bad. The storm seemed to be letting up. He opened the cage door and then the window. Hedwig shrieked suddenly, but she didn't have to. Harry had heard it. He closed the window softly and headed down the stairs. Hedwig was still in her cage. She might have been frightened, but Harry didn't blame her. He knew that sound.

Somewhere downstairs, somebody had apparated.

Harry didn't have his wand. He realized that just as he reached the landing. But he couldn't help it. He _had_ to go downstairs. At least he would know if somebody was there. The house was silent. Something seemed to be missing. But down in the kitchen now, Harry could hear voices. Two voices. And his last hopes that the wizard in his house was somebody from the order was there smashed. But the voices seemed familiar. Where had he heard them before?

One was definitely Dudley's. One was Aunt Petunia. And one was a deep, rumbling voice that Harry knew did not belong to any wizard he had ever been told to trust. He crept forward, trying hear what the voices were saying. It was really weird, Harry decided, to have visitors at six a.m. Not very polite, even in the wizarding world.

The voices hushed. Harry was thrown back as the door swung open. He lay on the floor, eyes wide, staring at the wand pointed down at him.

A big, bulky frame blocked light from the kitchen. It framed the man, his thick black hair, his broad shoulders. Harry gaped. This guy was big. Really big. Not as big as Hagrid, but with a similar figure. It took Harry a moment to realize why. The man was wearing a really, really big, heavy jacket. Harry still stared. It was summer! Now Harry knew who it was.

But it wasn't a Death Eater. It wasn't a student. It wasn't anybody Harry had been expecting. In fact, it was the last person in the world Harry Potter expected to see in his house, six a.m. or not. In fact, it was the last person he'd expect to see _anywhere_.

"Hello, Harry," said a familiar deep, booming voice. The wand went down, and a hand came out, ready to pull him to his feet.

"No!" moaned Aunt Petunia.

It wasn't the fact that a wizard was in her house and she didn't really care. It wasn't that someone had just apparated into her kitchen. It wasn't the fact that Dudley squealed in terror at the sight of Harry and Aunt Petunia didn't even glance at him. None of these things surprised Harry the most. It wasn't the fact that, after a moment, Petunia sat down and closed her eyes and said something very, very softly.

"I suppose you'll have to tell him then."

Dudley nodded and said, "Yeah, mum," and then turned to Harry. "I don't go to Smeltings. That's whay _he's_ here."

No, it wasn't even that. It was that standing beside Harry, the visitor's eyes widened.

"You mean Harry didn't know?" asked Viktor Krum.

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Well. It may be short, but I JKR I ain't. I aught to called this Harry Potter and the Mysterious Seventh Year Story Which Rowling Won't Write. It gets better. Promise. If not, I'll owe you money. Or something.


	2. Number 12

DISCLAIMER : I do not own anything but the ideas. They may not only exist in my little HP land. I may use them elsewhere. You may not. Mwaha.

I guess Harry hibernated through sixth year, because somehow nothing much has happened, and yet somehow it's Seventh year. Go figure.

**Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch**

**Chapter Two : Number Twelve Privet Drive, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place**

"What?" asked Harry.

"I don't go to Smeltings," Dudley repeated.

It clicked then. Viktor Krum was standing in the room. Aunt Petunia was defeated. Dudley didn't go to Smeltings. Stupid place anyway.

"You're a wizard?" Harry blurted.

Dudley didn't answer. Viktor did.

"Yes." he was giving Harry an odd look. This was too weird.

"I'm dreaming," Harry said aloud. _So sorry to bother you like this, little dream people. I'll be going back to bed now._

Viktor laughed. "Nah."

"No, really," said Harry. "I'm dreaming."

Dudley shook his head miserably. Petunia shuddered. Viktor actually smiled.

"Not dreaming. Sorry, Harry." Then he lumbered over to the table and sat down at one of the chairs. The wood creaked under the Quidditch player's weight. Dudley inched away from him. Viktor scowled. "So you lied? That vas a stupid thing to do. I vould have expected that, but still..."

He broke off. Dudley was shaking. Harry just stood there, watching it all go on. It felt kind of weird. He wouldn't have guessed that. Dudley was a wizard? No way.

"No bloody way." But Harry wasn't the one who said it. It was Uncle Vernon. Harry turned slowly, mouth open, and backed away. Vernon was advancing. Dudley whimpered. Then Viktor stood up, and Vernon stopped. He seemed afraid of Krum.

"Who in the the bloody world are you?"

"Krum."

"No last name. I expected that much from layabout and vagabond like you. One of you kind!" He snarled this last bit at Harry, who didn't back away again.

"One of Dudley's kind too," Harry said. He couldn't help himself. Vernon growled. Krum growled. Vernon cast a glance at Krum. Vernon didn't growl again.

"Sorry, Petunia," Viktor said surlily, "but ver're going. Remember vhat I told you. And be careful! Go on, Harry."

"Where-?"

"Get you're stuff. I need a vord vit Dursley."

Harry sprinted upstairs, not wanting to see this confrontation. So Dudley was a wizard. It still hadn't quite sunk in. Harry grabbed his stuff and shot out the door. He thought again, grabbed the card off the desk, then shot down the stairs as fast as he could go.

Vernon was much paler, Viktor was just a surly, and Petunia and Dudley seemed to have gone into hiding. They had left the kitchen. Harry glanced around, but they were gone, and Harry didn't have time to worry about it. (A/N: I'm sorry it's so fast! Only nothing much is gonna happen here. There's more stuff later on. I just need to get that far. Hang with me!) Viktor swung towards him.

"Ve're going."

Harry didn't argue. He just followed Viktor out the door and onto the lawn. It was really wet, and still raining. But Viktor just grabbed his bags walked over the a row of hedges that grew along Privet Drive. Leaning against the hedges was a broom. Harry grinned. Viktor attached the bags to his broomstick and tossed Harry his Firebolt. Harry caught it and held it for a moment, looking at it.

"Hey, Harry!" came a familiar voice from somewhere up above. Harry looked up. It was Dudley, leaning out the window of the top floor. "See you."

"Bye," said Harry. "Have fun at Durmstrang this year." He wasn't sure if he meant it or not.

Dudley scowled. Harry was about to say something, but Dudley said, "Good luck. And thanks for saving me from those dementors in Fifth." Then he slammed window shut and was gone.

Harry stared up for a moment, the shrugged and turned back to Viktor. Krum gave him a long look, then mounted his broom and kicked off. Harry didn't move. He'd seen something down at the end of Privet Drive. Something he didn't like the looks of.

Someone, or something, was standing quietly at the end of the street. It was very tall, and very dark. The street lamps cast strange shadows from it and across the walk. It didn't move. Harry suddenly felt very cold and kicked off, heading after Krum.

"Where are we going?" he asked, trying forget the shape.

"Number Twelve," said Krum shortly.

"The Order?" Harry gasped before he could think.

Krum actually smiled at that. "Of course the Order, Harry," he said. "Vhere else vould ve go?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Right," said Krum.

"How do you know about number twelve?" asked Harry.

Krum chuckled. "Herm-own-ninny got me involved vit this crazy mess,"he said.

"Wow," said Harry.

"Yes," said Krum. He might have said something more, but there was a sudden noise that made Harry spin around in the air and stop. Nothing. They flew on.

***

"Oh, Harry!" Hermoine Granger threw herself down the hall and right at him. She gave him a big hug, then gave Krum a hug. "You're both fine! We were so worried. After what happened I thought it'd gotten you!"

"Gotten us?" Krum looked confused. "Vhat did?"

It took Harry a moment to realize that Hermoine didn't look happy to see him. She looked very upset.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Ooh, Harry," she said. She looked at her toes. "Ooh, Harry," she said again. "I thought you'd've known."

"Known what?" Harry asked. "What happened?"

Hermoine didn't answer, but turned and walked down the hall, dragging Harry's trunk with her. Krum still held Hedwig's empty cage and the cauldron. Harry held both their brooms.

"What is it with her?" asked Harry.

Krum didn't answer. He looked concerned. He followed after Hermoine, and Harry followed him. They left his things at the end of the hall in a pile and went downstairs into the dining room and kitchen. Molly Weasly was making toast, but when she saw Harry, she leapt at him and gave him a huge, warm hug. Ron stood up from the wooden dining room table and gave him a pat on the back. Molly finally let go. Her eyes were shining with tears.

"Oh Harry!" she said. "We were so worried!"

"Why?" asked Harry again. Ron's ears turned pink and he backed away. Molly blinked and turned back to the toast. Harry looked between his two best friends.

"Hermoine Ron _what's going on?_"

The looked at each other.

"Er," said Ron.

"Well," said Hermoine.

"Maybe we'd better give it to him. Let him read it himself," said Ron. Hermoine just nodded. Ron reached over to the old table and picked up a newspaper. It was new, _The Daily Prophet,_ and Harry looked at it. The front page held a picture taken from an aerial viewpoint.

He stared. It seemed impossible. Privet Drive was burning. And not just any fire. Harry could tell it was a magical fire.

"Vhat the--?" Krum was staring too, and his eyes were almost as wide as Harry's.

Harry couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't read. All he could do was listen to a little voice in his head ask over and over "_Who's it going to be next, Potter?_"

He had his answer. And Harry had a sudden thought, more horrible than the last. The dream-Cho had said that whenever someone got killed, it was because someone was after Harry. And there had been that strange figure on the end of Privet Drive. If he had said something, maybe Krum would have been able to do something. Harry sat on his Firebolt, eyes wide, as he watched his last real home go up in flames. Somewhere down there, someone had tired to kill him, and they'd gotten the last of his family instead.

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Whoo. Intense stuff, man. I've always wanted to do that. Don't worry, it really is important to plot. I didn't just blow Privet Drive sky high for nothing. Still short, but I'm working on it. These are the like the _Early Explanatory and/or Foreshadowing Scenes_. Not much good. Bluh. But I like 'em. Please, _please,_ R&R. Thanks.

James Jango: Yay! Somebody actually liked it!! WHOOO!!! And yes, it be clear ere the end. It's important. ^_^


	3. Visiting Sirius

DISCLAIMER : I don't own Harry or any of them. Yet. Soon, there will original characters! But not yet. That's how it be.

**Harry Potter and the Golden Snitch**

**Chapter Three : Visiting Sirius**

"Harry? Harry? Please, Harry..."

"They weren't Muggles," said Harry softly. Hermione blinked

"What?" asked Molly Wesley.

"They didn't tell him," said Krum.

"But," said Ron.

"Dudley was in Durmstrang," said Krum.

Hermione stayed silent. Molly Wesley stared. Harry didn't know what to say. He simply blinked, set the paper down, and headed for the stairwell. There was only one thing to do, one thing that would make him feel better. Only one place he could visit that would make him feel better. He was going to visit Sirius.

***

It was dark in the upper rooms of the Black Mansion. There were spiders all along the edge of the room. He didn't like them here. They meant that the place was empty. They meant that nobody came to the room of the eldest son in the Black line.

Harry stared about the room. Buckbeak had been released into the Forbidden Forest last summer, but there were still little skeletons of mice laying about the room. The bed was rumpled, as if the last time Sirius used it, he hadn't made it. Of course not. Harry almost smiled; Sirius would never have made it. Dust had settled onto the covers, and the shelf of books opposite the bed where old and musty. They spines were unworn, but Harry could tell Sirius had read them. They surprised him. He would have expected magical books, but they weren't. They were Muggle books. Science Fiction mostly, but some were fiction. Harry smiled then. They would have been fantasy to Sirius; his godfather never left the wizarding world as far as Harry knew.

Harry sat down on the bed. It was soft and hard at the same time, somehow. Soft, because the bed itself was relatively comfortable. Hard, because the layer of dust reminded him the last thing he wanted to remember.

Everyone was gone.

Harry stared at the floor, not seeing. He'd hated the Dursleys. They'd never had anything in common. But now he knew why Dudley hated him. And now he was really alone.

Light was dancing before his eyes. Harry blinked. It was still there. Tears? He rubbed his eyes. The light still danced along the floor. Harry stared at it. Then he realized what it was. He bent down to the floor, reached under the bed. Past a net of cobwebs and and dustbunnies, Harry's hand met smooth stone. He tugged. He sat on the floor, holding the stone object close, eyes tight shut. He was crying now. A few tears dripped down his face and into the stone bowl. Inside, a million silver memories whirled around. Harry held the pensive tighter, almost afraid it might be only his imagination.

Then, before he could stop himself, he tipped his head forward into the bowl, and disappeared into the memories of Sirius Black.

Harry was falling down, down, down. But when he landed, he was till where he had been, sitting on the floor in the Black Mansion. The bookshelf was still packed with the same books it had held before. The window was still grimy. But there were three major differences.

First, the room was clean. No spider webs, no dust. Second, the window was half opened and dry sunlight spilled through. Third, a figure was sitting on the window ledge, staring out into the darkening sky.

It was grey out, with a handful of evening stars spread out across the heavens. But Harry barely even noticed that. The handsome boy, with long dark hair, was what held his attention. Harry realized he was holding his breath, but he didn't care. Sitting here just now, a few feet away, was his godfather. Only it seemed that something was wrong. Sirius was peering over his shoulder, head tilted to the side, hair falling loosely about his shoulders.

"Sirius," Harry whispered. He knew that here in the memories, he couldn't be heard. But he heard his voice echo, and he tensed. Sirius turned his eyes toward Harry, then smiled.

"Hey," he said. Harry's eyes widened. Sirius was looking right at him. Harry looked around behind him. Nobody was there.

"What's wrong, James?" asked Sirius worriedly.

"Nothing much," said Harry, deciding it was safer to play along. "Probably shouldn't be here, though."

"Why not?" asked Sirius warmly. Then he grinned. "Lily wouldn't want you here, mate, would she?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Figures. She'd rather have you off helping that git Snape," said Sirius.

"Er," said Harry again.

"Maybe if you convince her that you won't mess with Snape she'll let you be someone else's lackey. Too bad, mate. She's smart, that Lily, but she doesn't understand."

Harry shook his head. "No," said Harry. "But I wanted to see you."

"Don't worry, mate, I won't tell."

"You're a real pal Padfoot," said Harry softly.

"Anything for you, Prongs," said Sirius jokingly.

"Ready to go, Padfoot?" asked a voice Harry knew. He turned. Something was wrong here, something he hadn't expected.

Peter Pettigrew. He was the last person Harry had expected, and the first person he should have guessed. Sirius laughed. "James's here," said Sirius. "Don't tell Lily."

"Won't," said Peter.

"Oy, we have to go, mate. Come along?" asked Sirius.

"No," said Harry, "I have to go."

"See you, Prongs!" said Peter, waving. Harry waved, and as Peter closed the door behind him, Harry felt himself begin to spin. Again he was sitting on the floor with the pensive in his lap. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he had a new question that took his mind away from the Dursleys.

What had James Potter been doing when he helped Snape?

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Well, it was kinda odd. Pensives don't like water. I guess.


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